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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28044792">Let's Call the Whole Thing Off</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez'>killabeez</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Basically it's just shameless, First Time, M/M, Minor Gina/Robert deValicourt - Freeform, Minor Kate/Nick Sutherland - Freeform, Post-Canon, Romantic Comedy, Shameless use of Casablanca, and When Harry Met Sally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:01:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28044792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For millennia, Methos had one rule when it came to other Immortals: Don't get too close. Then he met Duncan MacLeod.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amanda Darieux &amp; Duncan MacLeod, Amanda Darieux &amp; Joe Dawson &amp; Duncan MacLeod &amp; Methos (Highlander), Amanda Darieux &amp; Methos (Highlander), Amanda Darieux/Nick Wolfe, Duncan MacLeod/Methos (Highlander), Joe Dawson &amp; Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson &amp; Methos (Highlander)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Highlander Holiday ShortCuts 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let's Call the Whole Thing Off</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/gifts">dkwilliams</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Robert and Gina</em>
</p><p>How did we meet? She broke into my house.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Now, Robert, that’s not fair. You stole from me, first.</p>
</blockquote><p>It’s true. I did. But then I saw you, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I was yours from that moment.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>First you stole my gold, and then you stole my heart.</p>
</blockquote><p>A prize beyond price, my dear.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You see? I had to marry him.</p>
</blockquote><p>And that makes me the most fortunate man in the world.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Will I see you tonight?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I never make plans that far in advance.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The neon <em>Joe’s</em> sign gleamed under a clear night sky, the T-bird’s tires crunching on gravel. Immortal presence sang along Duncan’s skin as he climbed out of the car, and he smiled. It was good to have Methos around again, perpetual thorn in Duncan’s side that he was. After the fiasco of the Watcher tribunal and the fallout, he’d figured the odds were long against seeing Methos again this century. Turned out, Joe was right; the old man couldn’t stay away, any more than Joe and Duncan could, even when they all should know better.</p><p>This time, it might have saved Richie’s life. And though he and Methos still had some things to work out, that was good enough for Duncan.</p><p>The Tuesday crowd was light, and it was easy to spot his friends—Methos in his customary spot near the end of the bar, Joe behind it working the taps. At the sight of him, Methos’s demeanor relaxed. He shifted over slightly to make room for Duncan to join them.</p><p>“Shoulda known I’d find you here,” Duncan said.</p><p>“Everybody comes to Rick’s American Café,” said Methos.</p><p>“I take it all’s well that ends well?” asked Joe.</p><p>“Thanks to you two,” Duncan replied. “I brought Richie his sword—leveled the playing field, as it were. He took care of the rest.” He arched a brow in Methos’s direction. “He didn’t tell you?”</p><p>Joe shrugged. “Always good to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”</p><p>Duncan nodded, giving Joe a keen look. It wasn’t the first time he’d suspected Joe sometimes asked him about things he already knew. A good historian always verified their sources. “I’ll try not to take that personally.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Methos offered. “See? Sometimes I do know a thing or two.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t start.”</p><p>Methos gave Joe an amused look. “Well, that’s gratitude for you.”</p><p>Joe snorted. He put a second pint of beer on a tray and signaled Mike to take them to the couple in the far corner. When he’d gone, Joe brought three glasses out from behind the bar and reached for a bottle of the good stuff.</p><p>As he poured, he said to Methos, “What’s with you, anyway? You were always a smartass, but I swear, I don’t remember you being this obnoxious all the time.”</p><p>Methos smiled. “I turned over a new leaf.”</p><p>“Uh oh,” Duncan muttered. “If he’s in a good mood, we’re all in trouble.”</p><p>Methos shot back, “Worked, didn’t it?” At their expressions, he shrugged. “If that’s what it takes for me to penetrate that thick skull of yours, so be it.”</p><p>“Jesus,” muttered Joe.</p><p>“Not last time I checked,” Methos quipped back.</p><p>In response to Duncan’s <em>can you believe this guy?</em> expression, Joe raised a hand. “Don’t look at me. I wouldn’t put it past him.” He cast a glance between the two of them, then set the bottle down and picked up his glass. “Well, I know one thing we can all agree on.”</p><p>Duncan considered for half a second, then raised his own. “It has been one hell of a day.”</p><p>Methos followed suit. “I’ll drink to that.”</p><p>Later, when the other patrons had gone and they’d retired to their usual table, “Ramblin’ Man” came on the stereo. It made Duncan think of Richie, out there in the world looking for answers.</p><p>“I can’t blame him,” he said. “Richie was right, even if misguided. I wish things could be the way he wanted them to be.”</p><p>Methos, who’d been quiet a while, nodded and reached for the bottle to top himself off. “It’s good to want things.”</p><p>“You don’t think it’s possible?” Duncan asked. “That one day we might find peace? Lay down our swords?”</p><p>“Mac,” Methos said, not ungently. “You know better.”</p><p>“Do I.”</p><p>“Yes. You do. You wouldn’t have lived this long if you didn’t.” Methos took a swig of his whiskey. Implacable, he stated, “Immortals can’t be friends. Not really.”</p><p>Duncan frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“It’s true. We all know it.” He gestured in a way that was meant to include current company. “I mean share a few drinks, sure. Shoot the breeze now and then—even tango between the sheets, if you want to live dangerously. Once in a while, it’s nice to be around people who know the truth about you. Just don’t make a habit out of it, and don’t get too attached, that’s all.”</p><p>“I don’t believe that. I’ve never believed that.”</p><p>“Mm.” Methos looked to Dawson. “Back me up on this, Joe. How many times, in the thousands of years the Watchers have been keeping our Chronicles, have two Immortals remained close for more than a century or two without things coming to swords between them? And don’t say Clay and Wellan.”</p><p>Joe frowned. “Why the hell not? They were the closest thing to—to soulmates, or whatever you want to call it, than anyone’s ever seen.”</p><p>“And that worked out so well for Clay. Besides, you know the body count they racked up over the centuries. Do we really want to hold those two up as the gold standard?” At Joe’s grudging expression, Methos gestured toward Duncan. “See? We don’t like to talk about it, but it’s the truth. The beheading part always gets in the way. No offense.”</p><p>“None taken.” Duncan chewed on whatever it was Methos was trying to tell him, but it refused to go down. “But that’s ridiculous. I have friends. Richie, Connor, Amanda—hell, I thought you were one of them.” He tried not to think about Fitzcairn. About Jacob, and Annie, and all the others who’d died because he’d gotten close to them.</p><p>Methos raised his glass in a salute. “Naïve, but endearing. That’s what I like about you.”</p><p>“Cute,” Duncan said. He challenged Methos with an answering gesture, the amber whiskey catching the light. “Fine. What about Gina and Robert?”</p><p>“You’re seriously asking me that? I seem to recall the phrase, ‘gluttons for punishment?’”</p><p>“Aw, come on.” But a sinking feeling came to rest in the pit of Duncan’s stomach. Methos wasn’t being facetious; he meant what he said.</p><p>Even if he had a point, it went against everything Duncan believed in.</p><p>“So, what are you saying?” He gestured between them without really meaning to. “That this is all just a game to you?”</p><p>Methos’s expression wasn’t quite a smile, but felt like one nonetheless. “Don’t get me wrong. I like you as much as the next guy. But there’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.”</p><p>The sinking feeling became one of hollow, undeniable disappointment. All this time, Duncan had thought that certain things were understood between them—that they’d been warily circling closer to a tentative trust that might actually mean something.</p><p>
  <em>Never one of us, though. That’d be too much of a commitment for me to make.</em>
</p><p>Duncan frowned into his drink and muttered, “Not like you didn’t warn me.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>You like ‘potato’ and I like ‘potahto’</em>
  <br/>
  <em>You like ‘tomato’ and I like ‘tomahto’</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Potato, potahto, tomato, tomahto</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Let's call the whole thing off!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Methos broke the news in as few words as possible, adhering to his personal tenet to, whenever possible, cut clean. Dawson took it about as well as he’d expected.</p><p>“Wait, he <em>what?</em> When did this happen?”</p><p>“After you left.”</p><p>“After—how long after?” Joe had already reached for the phone. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since they’d toasted Duncan’s survival and O’Rourke’s death on the barge. Tonight, after closing at Le Blues Bar, Methos had come to break it to Joe, Amanda already on a plane back to Toronto and Duncan in the wind.</p><p>“This morning, okay? He left before dawn. And before you ask, no, I have no idea where he went. And for the record, neither does Amanda.”</p><p>Joe stared at Methos for a second. “You’re gonna have to give me a minute. All right?”</p><p>Methos conceded with a gesture, settling in to drink his beer while Dawson did what he needed to. When he finished, he hung up and set the phone down on the bar.</p><p>Silence hung between them. Joe stared into space for a minute before his expression quirked, eyebrows climbing toward his hair. “I can’t believe he ditched me again.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”</p><p>“Sure. Easy for you to say.”</p><p>“Right. Good point.”</p><p>Something in Methos’s tone must have triggered Joe’s Watcher instincts, because he focused his attention on Methos with a suddenly keen eye. “So, he ditched you, too.”</p><p>Methos averted his eyes and took a sip of his beer, wiping his mouth. “Does appear that way. But contrary to popular opinion, I’m not his keeper. If he wants to cut ties, let him. It’s none of my business.”</p><p>“Uh huh, right.” At Methos’s expression, Joe gave a sharp laugh. “Nice try, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I don’t know much, but I know bullshit when I hear it.”</p><p>“Oh, you think so.”</p><p>“Cut the crap, old man. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you care what happens to MacLeod. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”</p><p>“Fine! Guilty.” Methos reined in his momentary knee-jerk response with effort. “That doesn’t change the facts.”</p><p>“Which are?”</p><p>“If there’s one thing I know about MacLeod, it’s that he cares about you, Joe. He’ll reach out when he’s ready. And in the meantime, he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”</p><p>Joe stared at him for a long moment, then finally chuckled. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Pollyanna. I’d almost buy it, if I didn’t know any better.”</p><p>Methos smiled, though he suspected Dawson saw through it. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Kate and Nick</em>
</p><p>I’ll tell you one thing, if I’d known he was going to go around shooting me all the time—</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Aw, come on. It was one time. One!</p>
</blockquote><p>You still owe me a blouse.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>What happened to taking it out in trade? Because I’m pretty sure we’re even.</p>
</blockquote><p>I never agreed to that.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Yes, you did.</p>
</blockquote><p>I really didn’t.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You’re full of it, you know that? You know you love me.</p>
</blockquote><p>Never said I didn’t. He’s the love of my life—and for me, that’s saying something.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.</p>
</blockquote><p>Where I go, he goes.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>What she said.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>~  TEN YEARS LATER  ~</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>A kiss is still a kiss</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The Met’s display of Middle Kingdom Egyptian artifacts proved a temptation too great for Methos to resist. He’d avoided revisiting that particular era on general principles for the better part of three millennia, and he’d especially avoided museum exhibits. The Watchers couldn't be everywhere, and one could never be sure whether Kronos or even Caspian might indulge a moment of nostalgia, so Methos had made it a point to give all such events a wide berth.</p><p>Now, he lost himself for hours amidst the art, jewelry, and reconstructed temples. He hadn’t spent much time in Egypt during those centuries, and the profound cultural shifts of the period had been poorly documented, leaving fascinating mysteries behind.</p><p>At last, Methos paid his respects to the colossal head of Amenemhat III and left the hall. He was only in New York for the day, and hadn't yet decided whether he would try to see MacLeod. That possibility had teased at his resolve ever since he'd made up his mind to come here, but he was still fighting his better instincts—the ones that warned him that he still wasn't proof against the seductive pull of that particular siren's call. He knew what he should do, for the sake of his own sanity. But even his finely-honed self-preservation skills weren't enough to put the idea out of his mind.  </p><p>The museum would still be open for an hour, so he delayed the decision by stopping near the Fabergé exhibit and skimming the brochure. Under the list of special exhibits—as if Fate had intervened—an unexpected name caught his eye.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>The work was a bronze piece about the height of a man, its lines strong and decisive save for one horizontal piece balanced at the top that described an elegant, wing-like shape that caught the sun. Methos had seen a handful of Tessa Noël’s installations in Seacouver, but this one was new to him. He could see why they’d chosen it. Against the backdrop of the New York skyline, it carved a dark and arresting punctuation mark, a statement of intent. It showed a maturity and confidence her earlier works had only hinted at. Methos stood in the sunshine looking at it for a while before heading back downstairs.</p><p>As the elevator neared the first floor and slowed, an unmistakable hum of Presence washed over him. Methos tensed for a second, but then recognition followed. A decade since the last time he’d seen MacLeod, but this, at least, hadn’t changed. Even so, the coincidence was so improbable that he didn't fully believe it until he saw the man with his own eyes.</p><p>Methos found him in the museum store. Duncan stood near a display of books, the woman standing beside him forgotten as his eyes searched for Methos. Girlfriend? Methos wondered. But she held a stack of white coffee table books in one arm, and as he drew near, he could see she wore a museum name tag.</p><p>Duncan’s hair was short, and he wore nondescript gray slacks and a white shirt, but somehow, as always, he seemed a little larger than life. The look on his face was one of mingled surprise and unmistakable pleasure. Methos’s step was light as he closed the distance between them, and he couldn’t help the smile that played about his lips. “Well, this is unexpected.”</p><p>“I’ll say.” Duncan extended a hand, and they clasped arms. To Methos’s surprise, Duncan pulled him close for a second, clapping him on the shoulder, a genuine, answering smile breaking over his face as he drew back. He held on to Methos’s arm for a second before letting him go. “How long’s it been?”</p><p>“What are we, tenth of June?” His smile got the better of him. "A while."</p><p>Duncan was still staring at him, drinking him in like he couldn’t get enough, and Methos felt his ears warm. Belatedly, Duncan remembered the woman standing beside him. “Forgive me,” he said. “Linda Bruce, this is—”</p><p>“Michael Davis,” Methos finished smoothly, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“Welcome,” she said. “Nice to meet you, too.” She glanced between them, arching her sharp brows. “I can see you two have some catching up to do, so I’ll leave you to it. Thank you for these,” she said as she withdrew with the armload of books. “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”</p><p>“May I?” Methos asked, the title on the spine catching his notice. She smiled and let him take one from the top of the pile before leaving them alone.</p><p>Duncan watched as he examined the cover. “<em>Inamorata</em>,” Methos murmured. He opened the book to a random page. “Is this…?”</p><p>“Just came out last month.”</p><p>Methos turned the page. “These are really good,” he said after a moment. He flipped to the title leaf, and saw that it was signed with a name he didn’t recognize, in handwriting he did. “When did you take up photography again?”</p><p>Duncan cleared his throat slightly. “A few years ago.”</p><p>Methos closed the book, heading toward the register, and Duncan followed. When he realized Methos meant to buy it, he made a gesture as if to stop him. “You don’t have to—”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Methos said, amused. “Michael Davis can afford it.”</p><p>“No more grad student, huh?”</p><p>“Nah. Figured I’d try ‘trust fund ne’er-do-well’ on for size.”</p><p>“It suits you.”</p><p>Methos paid for the book, and they waited as the clerk wrapped it in tissue paper and put it in a bag. Together, they left the shop and crossed the great hall to the front entrance, Duncan falling in beside him as easily as he might have in the old days. They stopped on the front steps, a pleasant breeze easing the heat of the late afternoon sun. Methos let himself really look for a minute, and was pleased to see that his friend had found, at last, a measure of peace for himself. He looked good. Not happy, exactly, but—centered, was the word that came to mind.</p><p>“I saw her piece on the roof,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Duncan agreed. “It is.” After a moment, he said, “Forgive me, I should have asked. How’s Marie?”</p><p>Methos blinked. For some reason, the idea that Duncan would ask Joe about him hadn’t occurred to him. Obviously, though, it had been a while. “Good. She’s good. At least, that’s what I hear.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re not—?”</p><p>Methos shook his head. “Nope.”</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, what can you do. She’s a lovely girl. But somewhere along the way, I lost the knack for being Adam Pierson, you know? All started to seem a bit hollow.” At Duncan’s quizzical expression, he elaborated. “Pretending to be something I’m not.”</p><p>“Ah,” Duncan said, understanding.</p><p>“What about you?”</p><p>Duncan put his hands in his pockets and, without spoken intent, they turned and started down the steps together, heading south along the tree-lined patio. “I’m good. I live in Brooklyn, now. Got a dojo there.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Duncan nodded. “Going on two years.”</p><p>“You like it here? New York, I mean?”</p><p>“What’s not to like? Connor made me a partner in his antiques business a few years back, but that’s more of a hobby.” He cast a sidelong glance at Methos, his face quirking in a smile. “Like you always said—”</p><p>They finished in unison—“it’s good to keep busy.”</p><p>“Right.” Duncan fell quiet for a moment. Methos wondered whether this was the moment when things got awkward—when they remembered that things had never really been easy between them. But then Duncan said, “When I left Paris, I dropped off the map for a while. Then, one day, I got a letter from a gallery in Seacouver. They wanted to know if I’d kept any of Tessa’s work, and if I’d be interested in loaning them out for a show of local artists. I don’t think they had any idea, but it was ten years to the day from the day she died.”</p><p>“That must have been hard.”</p><p>“It was. But I realized, I’d never really grieved someone before her. I’ve lost friends, lovers, people I cared about—but never someone like her. When she died, I put all the memories of her away, including her art. That day, I realized, I wanted to share it with the world. Make sure that her passion would live on.” He shrugged, self-deprecating. “I bought a camera.”</p><p>“You’ve got a talent for it,” Methos said.</p><p>“Thanks.” Duncan turned into the park, and they left the noise of 5<sup>th</sup> Avenue behind.</p><p>“Gonna be weird, though,” Methos admitted.</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>Methos held up his shopping bag from the museum. “Not sure I can get used to calling you ‘Stephan.’”</p><p>Duncan chuckled. “Please don’t. It’s just a pen name.”</p><p>Methos, genuinely relieved, said, “Thank heaven for that. A man needs some constants in the world.”</p><p>“Even you, huh.”</p><p>“Even me.”</p><p>They strolled deeper into the park along a path dappled in shade. The sounds of kids and dogs playing replaced the traffic noises of the city. Somewhere in the distance, steel drums played.</p><p>“Speaking of constants,” Duncan said, “did you hear about Amanda?”</p><p>“You mean about her and Wolfe? I heard.”</p><p>“Amanda. Married. I still can’t believe it.”</p><p>“Will wonders never cease.”</p><p>They came to a cross path, and stopped. “You hungry?” Duncan asked. At Methos’s nod, he added, “You like Mexican?”</p><p>Half an hour later, they were seated in the window of an upscale bistro a few blocks from the museum. They placed their orders, and were brought glasses of beer so cold they had fogged with frost. Life, Methos thought, was good.</p><p>Duncan resumed the conversation, “He’s a decent guy, Wolfe. He’s good for her.”</p><p>“But? I’m sensing a but.”</p><p>Duncan sighed. “He’s young. And stubborn.”</p><p>“So, she has a type. Happens to the best of us.”</p><p>“Very funny. I just hope he doesn’t get himself killed, you know? Amanda’s back in the game, and she’s got a lotta history. Seems inevitable he’ll end up in the line of fire.”</p><p>“I heard he trained with you for a while.”</p><p>“Mm.” Duncan took a sip of his beer. “And how is Joe?”</p><p>“Don’t you know?”</p><p>“I do, actually. Talked to him on the phone just last week. But he didn’t mention you two had been in touch.”</p><p>“He didn’t?”</p><p>“I’m guessing you might have told him not to say anything.”</p><p>“Now, why would I do that?”</p><p>After dinner, they walked back to the park, unwilling to waste the beautiful summer evening. The path they took led along a stream and under an arched stone bridge that evoked a memory. Feeling mellow from the food, beer, and companionship, Methos said, “I’m afraid I’ve got a confession to make.”</p><p>“Yeah? What’s that.”</p><p>“The first time we met, I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”</p><p>Duncan huffed a quiet laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”</p><p>“I’d talked to Darius about you.”</p><p>“Do tell.”</p><p>“And Rebecca.”</p><p>That got his attention. “You talked to Rebecca about me?”</p><p>“Not to mention, I’d read your chronicles.”</p><p>Duncan stopped and faced him, frowning a little. “Why you telling me all this?”</p><p>“I’m saying, when I offered you my head, I meant it.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And…I had pretty good reason to think you wouldn’t take me up on it.” He risked a glance at Duncan, and saw he was more amused than angry. “Gotta admit, you’re taking this rather well.”</p><p>“I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”</p><p>“I’m aware.” When Duncan said nothing, he ventured, “What’s the statute of limitations on apologies?”</p><p>Duncan considered. “Fourteen years, three months, give or take a week... seems about right.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a relief. Looks like I skated under the wire.”</p><p>“Looks like it,” agreed Duncan, and they walked on in the lengthening shadows.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>The sun set at last, and they turned toward Methos’s hotel. Duncan offered to let Methos stay with him, but Methos shook his head. His things were at the hotel, he said, and he was leaving New York in the morning.</p><p>“The thing about the Middle Kingdom,” he was saying, “is that every king afterwards replaced anything that was worthwhile, so there’s not much left. Nearly every pyramid, every work of art. A decade or two of bad harvests, and it all falls apart.”</p><p>“Sounds like the current state of the world.”</p><p>“Pretty much.”</p><p>Duncan, remembering how he’d felt coming across Debra Campbell’s bracelet in an antiquities gallery in Paris, said, “I guess that’s why I like working with antiques. All the little forgotten details no one else remembers. Only in your case, the antiques are a bit harder to come by.”</p><p>“You can say that again. I suppose that’s why I got involved all those centuries ago.” At Duncan’s look, he elaborated. “In the Watchers. I thought, at least someone’s writing it all down. Maybe I can set the record straight here and there. Throw in a bit of truth when no one’s looking.”</p><p>“Hm. And how did that work out?”</p><p>Methos shrugged. “Win some, lose some.”</p><p>They’d reached the hotel. It struck Duncan how unlikely this meeting was, in more ways than he could count. The thought that he might have gone to the museum on a different day, that they might never have had this moment out of time together, seemed suddenly unacceptable.</p><p>On impulse, he said, “I’ve missed you, you know.” At Methos’s incredulous look, he insisted. “No, really, I have. Maybe we could do this again sometime.”</p><p>“You’re getting sentimental in your old age.”</p><p>“What can I say? Happens to the best of us.”</p><p>“Well, I missed you, too.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Even if you are a pain in my ass.”</p><p>Duncan smiled, tucking the memory away with the intent of keeping it for a long time to come. Aloud, he said, “Now who’s getting sentimental?”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Nick and Amanda</em>
</p><p>If I remember right, you were naked the night we met.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Oh, was I?</p>
</blockquote><p>Well, except for the bubbles.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I was hoping it would distract you. Did it work?</p>
</blockquote><p>What do you think?</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>At least I made an impression.</p>
</blockquote><p>Understatement. And what about me?</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You? Mm, I suppose. You did arrest me, after all.</p>
</blockquote><p>I forget, was that before or after you handcuffed me in my own apartment?</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>You know what they say, darling. Begin as you mean to go on.</p>
</blockquote><p>She changed my life.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>That makes two of us.</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Seems like dreams like I always had</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Could be, should be making me glad</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Why am I blue?</em>
  <br/>
  <em>It's up to you to explain</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Duncan grunted in exertion, struggling to manhandle the heavy end of a ridiculously oversized metal chair through the door of Methos’s new apartment.</p><p>“Careful,” Methos warned, “Don’t scratch the paint.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t dream of it.” They managed to get the monstrosity safely past the threshold, and Duncan kicked the door shut behind them.</p><p>“Over there,” Methos said, gesturing with his chin toward the far corner of the room.</p><p>They set it down at last, and Duncan wiped his face with the shoulder of his T-shirt. “Don’t you have any furniture sized for normal people?” he complained.</p><p>“Where’s the fun in that?” Methos surveyed the afternoon’s work. “It’ll do, for now.” He headed for the kitchen. “Want a beer?”</p><p>“God, yes.”</p><p>Methos popped the tops and brought one to him, then flopped down on the equally oversized divan. Duncan ran the cold bottle against the back of his neck, then took a deep pull from it, moving toward the windows. “Decent view,” he commented.</p><p>“Can’t complain,” Methos said behind him.</p><p>Something in his tone made Duncan look back in his direction, but other than a certain glint in his eye, Methos’s expression gave nothing away. “There’s a great little Ethiopian place downstairs,” Methos said then. “You hungry?”</p><p>“Yeah. Sounds good.” Duncan considered. “Wait, no—Thai.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, Kemosabe.”</p><p>While Methos placed the order, Duncan surveyed the rest of the apartment. Methos had chosen a modern, airy co-op in Lenox Hill—with good bones and a decent kitchen—upstairs from the Lexington Avenue subway. Methos’s taste in décor was…odd, to say the least, but Duncan supposed that was to be expected. He’d also noticed that the building was accessible, the guest bath had a walk-in shower with a bench seat, and Joe’s preferred venue in New York was two blocks away.</p><p>“What d’you think? You like it?” Methos joined him in the doorway to the main bedroom, leaning against the door frame.</p><p>Duncan covered for the sudden warmth in his face by taking another drink. “It’s great. Suits you.”</p><p>“Good location, everyone tells me.”</p><p>“Well, you know what they say.”</p><p>Methos pushed himself off the door frame and ambled into the bedroom. “Okay, well, I’m gonna take a shower before the food comes.” He set his beer down on the nightstand and pulled off his Henley, revealing smooth skin and a physique Greek statues would have envied. “Make yourself at home,” he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the bathroom.</p><p>Despite the beer, Duncan’s mouth felt suddenly dry. He swallowed, and heard his throat click. Under his breath, he said, “Yeah, I’ll do that.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Louis, whatever gave you the impression that I might be interested in helping Lazlo escape?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because, my dear Ricky, I suspect that under that cynical shell, you're at heart a sentimentalist.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I love this part.”</p><p>On the television, Rick and Renault were about to meet for the first time. Duncan and Methos lounged on the low, comfortable couch, empty food containers and chopsticks strewn amongst the handful of beer bottles on the low table. “How extravagant you are,” Methos said along with the movie. “Throwing away women like that. Some day they may be scarce.” They watched the two men exchange quips until Renault said, “I like to think that you killed a man. It’s the romantic in me,” and Methos laughed.</p><p>In all the years they’d known each other, Duncan had seldom heard Methos laugh—and almost never in simple enjoyment. It had been a long time since he’d watched <em>Casablanca</em>, and he’d forgotten how the friendship between the two men was the solid thread that held the whole movie together. It was his turn to chuckle a few moments later when Bogart said, “I stick my neck out for nobody.”</p><p>“Sounds like someone I know,” he murmured.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Methos replied with a salute of his beer bottle.</p><p>They watched without commenting for a few minutes, Duncan getting as much out of Methos’s obvious enjoyment as he did from the film itself. He still didn’t know why, exactly, Methos had made himself a home in New York. They hadn’t talked about it. When Duncan had asked, Methos had said only, “What better place to disappear than a city of eight million people?”</p><p>“You really love this movie, don’t you?” Duncan said after a while.</p><p>Methos looked at him, sidelong and suspicious, as if the possibility had only just occurred to him that MacLeod might be an imbecile. “Don’t you?”</p><p>“Yeah. I do.” He took a drink, feeling it more than he should. He didn’t drink much these days. “Tess and I used to watch it together. It was her favorite.”</p><p>Methos finished his beer and pushed himself to his feet. “You want another?”</p><p>Duncan shook his head. “I’m good.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>By the time Sam told Rick there was nothin’ but trouble for him in Casablanca, Duncan was fast asleep. Methos stood over him for a minute, then went and got the duvet off his bed to tuck him in.</p><p>“Of all the gin joints in all the world,” he murmured.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Here’s looking at you, kid.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m shopping for a wedding present. Why?”</p><p>Methos shifted his mobile to his other shoulder so he could stir his eggs. “A wedding present. Who’s getting married this time?”</p><p>“Connor, if you must know.”</p><p>“The elder MacLeod! Good for him.”</p><p>“Wait, I thought you didn’t approve of marriage.”</p><p>“Whatever gave you that idea? I’m the one who’s done it sixty-eight times, remember?”</p><p>“Oh, right. It’s fine as long as it’s not one of us, I forgot.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>Methos turned off the burner and used the wooden spoon to scrape the eggs onto a plate.</p><p>“How do you know he’s not marrying one of us?” asked Duncan.</p><p>“Because he was always the sensible one.” A second later, a frisson of trepidation made him pause with the pan halfway to the sink. “It’s not, is it? One of us?”</p><p>“No, she’s mortal. She teaches at Columbia.”</p><p>“See? Sensible.” Methos put his pan in the sink and grabbed a fork, carrying his breakfast into the living room. “What are you going to get them?”</p><p>“Something… special, of course. Something unique.” But Duncan sounded frustrated, maybe even discouraged. Methos could hear the clicking of a mouse in the background.</p><p>“Obviously.” When Duncan didn’t reply, he prompted, “Not a Qing vase, I presume.”</p><p>“Too obvious.”</p><p>“Of course, silly me.” Methos sat down on the couch, put Duncan on speaker, and scooped up a forkful of eggs, blowing on them as he listened to clicks from the other end of the phone. “Want some help?” he offered, half-joking.</p><p>He expected Duncan to laugh, but instead he sighed, sounding relieved. “Would you?”</p><p>Maybe it was the hopeful note in the other man’s voice, or maybe it was the admittedly flattering notion that Duncan genuinely wanted his help with something this important to him. Either way, Methos found himself saying, “Meet me here in half an hour. And there’d better be lunch involved.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“Amanda was easy.”</p><p>“Jewels,” Methos said.</p><p>“See? Exactly. And if Amanda’s happy, Nick’s happy. Couldn’t be easier.”</p><p>The two of them walked down Madison Avenue, hands tucked in their pockets against the December chill. The air promised more snow before nightfall, and Christmas lights sparkled against the gathering gloom.</p><p>“You know what your problem is?” Methos said. “You think you need his approval.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“You heard me. The two of you have this…thing. Sibling rivalry, except the Immortal version—with a generous helping of daddy issues on the side.”</p><p>Duncan scoffed. “Thanks, Dr. Freud.”</p><p>“Tell me I’m wrong.”</p><p>Glum, Duncan looked in the windows of the stores they passed, as if inspiration might strike in the form of a countertop air purifier, or a house plant. “You’re not wrong.”</p><p>“Of course I’m not. I know things.”</p><p>“So what do I do? It’s not like I can buy them a toaster.”</p><p>“What about a karaoke machine?” Methos suggested. “What? It’s not like anyone else will—okay, fine.” He thought. “What about the fiancée?”</p><p>“What about her?”</p><p>“Who is she? Tell me about her.”</p><p>Duncan frowned. “Her name’s Laura. She teaches at Columbia, like I said. Native American studies.”</p><p>“Well, that’s easy, then.”</p><p>“Oh, really.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Duncan stopped, giving him a skeptical look. “Okay, sensei, explain it to me. I’m all ears.”</p><p>Patiently, Methos replied, “You said it yourself. If Amanda’s happy, Nick’s happy, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure, but—”</p><p>“But, nothing. Listen, I’m assuming price is no object?”</p><p>Warily, Duncan conceded, “Within reason.”</p><p>Methos told Duncan what he had in mind, and that he happened to know a dealer on East 32<sup>nd</sup> amenable to a cash offer. The rare, collectible Navajo blanket was one of a kind and, Duncan admitted with a sigh of relief and gratitude, perfect.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A beautiful sight</em>
  <br/>
  <em>We’re happy tonight</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Walking in a winter wonderland</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The wedding was to be held on New Year’s Eve. Amanda came up with the idea that they would all spend the week of Christmas together, and though Duncan suspected the shopping prospects were at least part of her motivation, he welcomed the suggestion. For the first time since he’d left Paris, he felt ready. Maybe it had something to do with reconnecting with Methos, or maybe he just missed his friends. Either way, he found himself looking forward to the visit with quiet anticipation.</p><p>Amanda and Nick arrived from Paris within an hour or so of Joe’s plane from London. Elaborate garlands and lights festooned the lobby of their hotel, and sparkling, elegant trees decked in white ornaments stood in every available space. The clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation and a piano playing jazz versions of Christmas tunes wafted from the hotel bar as Duncan and Methos crossed to the elevator and went up to their suite.</p><p>“There you are!” Amanda greeted them at the door. “We thought you’d never get here.” She had her arms around Duncan’s neck before he had a chance to reply. “Happy belated, darling,” she said, and held him tight, radiating happiness.</p><p>“Thank you,” Duncan said, hugging back. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>When at last she let him go, she kissed Methos on both cheeks. “It’s good to see you, too,” she said, looking them both over and giving them a mischievous, knowing smile. “I see New York agrees with you.”</p><p>“Amanda.”</p><p>She ushered them inside, and Duncan shook hands with Nick, then embraced Joe. “Glad you made it,” he said, emotion thick in his throat. “How was the concert?” Dawson had moved to England back in ninety-eight to be near his daughter, and when she’d had kids, he’d made it a semi-permanent thing. He and Duncan hadn’t seen each other in almost a year.</p><p>Joe beamed, always happy to talk about his grandkids—especially the oldest, Sophie, who at age seven already played two instruments. “She was terrific, Mac. She knocked it out of the park.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised. She’s got one hell of a role model.” Duncan turned his attention to Nick. “And I see married life agrees with you two. How’s the private security business these days?”</p><p>They played catch up on each other’s lives, passing around photos of Joe’s grandkids until Amanda urged them all down to the bar, insisting that they celebrate. “I can’t remember the last time I saw so many of us in one place,” she said when they were all seated around the table. “Kinda makes me wish we’d done something like this when we tied the knot. Oh, not really,” she added, leaning over to kiss Nick on the cheek and squeeze his arm. “Ours was perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing. But I’m excited to see everyone.”</p><p>Duncan accepted his drink from the server with a nod of thanks. “That’s right, you missed Gina and Robert’s in ninety-six. Their best one yet. Wouldn't you say so?" he asked Methos, with an air of feigned innocence.</p><p>“I’m surprised you convinced him to go with you,” Amanda said, giving Methos a curious look. “I would’ve thought you’d steer clear, with so many of us in one place.”</p><p>“What can I say? I like a good party.”</p><p>Duncan chuckled. “What he means is, Gina wouldn’t take no for an answer.”</p><p>“And now Connor, too? I didn’t even realize you two were friends.”</p><p>“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Amanda.”</p><p>“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises.”</p><p>“What about you, Joe?” Nick asked. “How exactly does a Watcher wrangle an invite to an Immortal wedding?” When Joe, Duncan, and Methos all laughed, Nick looked between the three of them in consternation. “What?”</p><p>“He didn’t exactly invite me,” Joe admitted.</p><p>Methos put his arm around Joe, eyes crinkled in amusement. “He’s my plus one.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>The three out-of-towners were still on the European end of the clock, so the impromptu party wound down before the night was out. They parted with promises to see each other the following day.</p><p>Snow was falling as Methos and Duncan left the hotel, the city sparkling with lights and a pristine, crisp inch of powder limning the trees and painting everything in white. Without spoken agreement, they began walking toward Methos’s apartment. Duncan’s place was a twenty minute cab ride from there, and it was in the right direction, more or less.</p><p>Methos was uncharacteristically quiet. After the third time Duncan caught his friend looking at him with a particular unreadable expression, he stopped walking and waited for Methos to do the same. “All right, what.” At Methos’s questioning look, he elaborated, “You keep looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Methos said. He resumed walking, and after a moment, Duncan followed suit.</p><p>“I know ‘nothing,’ and that’s not nothing.”</p><p>“It’s good to see you happy, that’s all. It’s been a long time.”</p><p>Duncan felt his face warm. He searched for something to say, but words failed him. Methos cast him a sidelong glance, amused. “It’s okay. You’re allowed, you know.”</p><p>It was true, Duncan realized. He was happy. It had been a good night, spent with the people he cared about. In a few days, he’d see Connor, and Ceirdwyn, and other old friends.</p><p>He’d spent most of the last ten years keeping himself apart from everyone, mortals and Immortals alike, afraid of putting them in danger. Afraid of losing anyone else. But then Methos had come back into his life. He hadn’t asked permission, any more than he ever had. And this time, their sharp, jagged edges somehow fit together in a way they hadn’t before.</p><p>He wanted to ask Methos, <em>what about you? Are you happy?</em> But before he could find the courage to say it, they’d reached Methos’s block. They stopped at the corner, and Methos inclined his head. “This is my stop.”</p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Duncan asked, strangely reluctant to let him go.</p><p>“Probably. I’m picking Joe up for lunch around one.”</p><p>“Have a good night, then,” he said, though it wasn’t what he wanted to say. And for a second, he thought Methos wanted to say something, too.</p><p>The moment passed. “Night, Duncan,” Methos said. “Sleep well.” And they parted, as they had on countless other nights, Methos home to his bed, and Duncan to his.</p><p>Duncan could have gotten a taxi on that corner, but instead he kept walking, hoping the cold, crisp air would clear his head.</p><p>He’d only gone a block or so when something stopped him. Not Immortal presence, exactly. Not a specific threat or warning of danger. But he stood there only for a second or two before he turned back the way he’d come; a few steps later, he broke into a run.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>Methos’s command echoed in the alley. “Stay out of it, Mac. This isn’t your fight.”</p><p>A cold wind blew in gusts between the tall buildings, and the asphalt was beginning to ice. Methos was skilled with a sword, but Duncan knew too well how one slip could be all it took to claim a life.</p><p>“Doesn’t have to be anyone’s fight, if he doesn’t want it to be,” Duncan countered. He kept his hands where the stranger could see them and drew closer. “Come on, what do you say?” He sized up the other Immortal, who stood half a foot taller than Methos, and was built like a deuce-and-a-half. “Put away the sword, and we can all go home.”</p><p>“What if I say no?” the big guy growled. American, by the accent, somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon. His weapon was a bastard sword, though not one Duncan recognized.</p><p>“Fine,” Duncan said good-naturedly. He put his hands in his pockets. “But my friend here’s good. It’s likely to be the last bad decision you ever make.”</p><p>“My name’s Karl Hogarth. Who the hell are you?”</p><p>“I’m Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod.”</p><p>Hogarth frowned. He looked at Methos, grip tightening on his sword. Duncan tensed—and then the guy turned and ran like hell hounds were after him.</p><p>“Oh, for—” Methos gestured in disgust, and let his sword drop.</p><p>Duncan chuckled. “Something I said?”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“Terrific.” Methos rolled his eyes and put his sword away. He walked toward Duncan, irrationally annoyed. “You’re going to be insufferable for the next six months at least. Could you be more full of yourself?”</p><p>“Well, I could try.”</p><p>They left the alley and stepped back onto the sidewalk. Methos’s adrenalin was still spiking, and without a more suitable target, Duncan would do. “How many times do I have to tell you?”</p><p>“I can’t fight your battles for you. I know, I heard you the first time.”</p><p>Methos glanced over his shoulder in the direction Hogarth had run. “Unbelievable. I think he might have sprained something.”</p><p>“Maybe I should go check on him,” Duncan suggested.</p><p>Methos stopped in his tracks, his warning dire. “Don’t even think about it.”</p><p>Duncan, damn him, batted his eyelashes. “Aw, come on, don’t tell me you’re worried about me.”</p><p>Methos resumed walking. “Don’t be ridiculous.”</p><p>“You are. You’re worried I’m gonna go chase him down.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t be the first time.”</p><p>“Maybe I’m learning in my old age.”</p><p>Methos wasn’t amused. Sue him if he didn’t like the idea of Duncan risking his life for no good reason, and sue him if that predictable reaction never failed to piss him the hell off.</p><p>Duncan tried, “You’re cute when you’re angry, you know that?”</p><p>“I’ll show you cute,” Methos warned. But he felt his ears warm, and hoped Duncan didn’t notice.</p><p>In front of Methos’s building, they stopped and cast a glance down the street in both directions, but saw no sign of Methos’s hapless challenger.</p><p>“I should probably sleep on your couch,” Duncan offered. “Just in case.”</p><p>“I knew it. As if your ego needed another excuse.”</p><p>“Hey, be nice. After all, I did just save your life.”</p><p>“You did no such thing.” The adrenalin was wearing off, though, so he grudgingly allowed, “You did save me from getting blood on my favorite boots. I guess that warrants a thank you of some sort.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. Anything for your favorite boots.”</p><p>They stood together in the falling snow. Down the block, a door opened, letting laughter and music spill out into the night, but the space between them was a quiet island of warmth in the cold night. Reluctantly, Methos met Duncan’s amused, steady gaze. As quickly as his anger had sparked, it melted away. He forgot, sometimes, how beautiful Duncan was. Not his looks, exactly—though he was easy enough on the eyes—but the whole of him, brave and flawed and true, that shone out of him, a rare and priceless light in the bleak darkness of the world.</p><p>“You never did tell me,” Duncan said at last, in a different tone entirely.</p><p>“Tell you what?”</p><p>“The real reason you moved to New York.”</p><p>Methos's mouth had gone dry, but his heart beat a strong, steady certainty in his chest as he reached out and brushed snow out of Duncan’s hair. “Maybe I did,” he said. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>Methos kissed as if each time were the last time—as if every time their mouths found each other, it would have to last him a lifetime. By the time they made it to Methos’s apartment, Duncan thought he might be right, because this was likely to kill him before the night was over. His whole body felt alight from the inside, an ache of want he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember.</p><p>“Off,” Methos ordered the second they were through the door. He backed Duncan toward the living room, pulling Duncan’s scarf off and casting it aside, then his own gloves. He slipped his hands under Duncan’s sweater. “Off, off.” Duncan hurried to obey, shrugging off his coat and letting it fall. Methos’s mouth threatened to drive him out of his mind, which made coordination difficult, but Methos hurried things along by stripping Duncan’s sweater off over his head before they were more than three steps closer to the couch.</p><p>“Methos—” The other man shed his own coat, then went for the button of Duncan’s trousers, and Duncan sucked in a sharp breath as Methos’s long fingers brushed close to intimate territory. Duncan caught his wrist, struggling to keep his composure. “What’s your hurry? I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“I’ve waited a long time for this,” Methos countered, his gaze roaming over Duncan’s chest and throat before returning to his mouth. “And I don’t intend to waste another minute.” He slipped a hand into Duncan’s pants, gripped him through his underwear, licked Duncan’s mouth open and then pushed him down onto the couch.</p><p>Duncan, helpless, groaned and did as he was told. Later, he guessed, there’d be time to take it slow.</p><p>It was the last coherent thought he had for a while.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>Duncan woke to the sound of the shower running. He stirred, smoothing the empty space in the bed before he was fully conscious enough to remember where he was, and why he was naked under the sheets.</p><p>
  <em>Methos.</em>
</p><p>When had he first wondered about what it would be like between them? He’d been fascinated by Methos from the first, but who wouldn’t be? And then Methos had held Duncan’s sword to his neck—him, of all people—and told him he was too important to lose. He’d been gratified, and flattered, and wanted more than anything to be worthy of it. He’d been alone, fiercely missing Darius and Tessa and Fitzcairn, and there was a bit of all of them in Methos. When Methos disappeared, somehow he’d known they’d see each other again, sooner rather than later.</p><p>Duncan stretched under the covers, running a hand over his belly and chest. He needed a shower rather desperately himself. The idea of joining Methos crossed his mind, and lit a warm spark of anticipation. Maybe he could convince Methos to come back to bed with him. The wedding wasn’t for another week—there’d be plenty of time to spend with Amanda and Joe.</p><p>The water stopped. He could hear Methos moving around; for a second, Duncan felt a sudden pang of unaccountable self-consciousness. He caught himself trying to decide between feigning sleep, or arranging himself in some casual posture. Why was he nervous? It wasn’t like he and Methos hadn’t spent nearly every day of the last five months hanging out together. It wasn’t like the sex hadn’t been every bit as good as he’d imagined it would be, and then some.</p><p><em>Just calm down,</em> he told himself. <em>It’ll be fine.</em></p><p>Methos seemed to take a long time to emerge from the bathroom. It wasn’t until he appeared fully dressed, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, that Duncan felt the first sinking sensation in his chest.</p><p>“Morning,” Methos said on his way to the walk-in closet. He reappeared a moment later with a black cable-knit sweater, which he laid on top of the dresser while he hunted for socks. “Sleep well?”</p><p>“Fine,” Duncan answered, acutely aware of his lack of clothing. He watched Methos pull his sweater on, then smooth his still-damp hair. He sat on the corner of the bed, back to Duncan, to pull on his socks.</p><p>“Where you going?”</p><p>“Busy day. Lots to take care of.”</p><p>“Oh, really? Like what?”</p><p>Methos got to his feet. “Gotta see a guy at Bauman about a first edition Tocqueville, and then I promised Joe I’d meet him for lunch. Not to mention, I still need a suit for the wedding. Help yourself to coffee, or there’s a decent bagel place on the corner, if you want breakfast.”</p><p>That all sounded reasonable enough. So why was the sinking feeling getting worse?</p><p>Methos picked up his keys from the dresser, then hesitated. “We could meet up later, if you want. Maybe grab dinner?”</p><p>“Sure,” Duncan said. “Dinner sounds good.”</p><p>“I’ll call you later, then.” Methos was already a step closer to the door.</p><p>“Okay,” Duncan said. Then before he could stop himself, “Methos?”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Nothing. It’s not important. I’ll see you later.”</p><p>“I’ll call you,” said Methos.</p><p>Less than half a minute later, Duncan was alone in the apartment.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>Amanda woke to the smell of coffee. Nick had gotten up around eight to go for a run, and he was still gone, which meant it was still reasonably early. On another day, she might have stayed in bed to welcome him home, but she had an important day of shopping planned.</p><p>She put on a black satin robe, splashed water on her face, and wandered out to the living room. Joe was already there, busy on his laptop. “You’re up early,” she said, heading for the espresso machine.</p><p>“Got a call from one of my guys first thing this morning. Apparently, MacLeod and Methos ran into company last night after they left.”</p><p>Amanda’s eyebrows rose. “Not serious company, I take it?”</p><p>Joe chuckled and shook his head. “Bit off more than he could chew. He tried to challenge Methos, then ran off when MacLeod showed up.”</p><p>“Can’t say as I blame him.” Amanda brought her coffee over to sit with him, but before she had a chance to drink it, the phone rang.</p><p>“Yours,” said Joe.</p><p>Amanda picked up her cell, unplugging it from its charger. “Hello?”</p><p>The voice on the other end of the line was Duncan’s. “I screwed up.”</p><p>“Uh oh. What now?”</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>A second later, Joe’s cell buzzed. He frowned at Amanda, who shrugged. “Hello?”</p>
  <p>Methos said, “It’s official. I’ve lost my mind.”</p>
</blockquote><p>“Last night, after we left the bar. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but one thing led to another, and—long story short…”</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Before I knew it we were back at my place, and—”</p>
  <p>“And?”</p>
</blockquote><p> “Long story short, what?</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“And what? Do I have to paint you a picture?”</p>
</blockquote><p>“Wait, you’re kidding. You and Methos? Seriously?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so.”</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Well, it’s about time.”</p>
</blockquote><p>“Well, it’s about time.” Amanda and Joe exchanged a delighted look, whispering to each other in unison, <em>I knew it!</em></p><p>Into the phone, Amanda said, “Tell me everything!”</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Into his own phone, Joe said, “So? What are you calling me for?”</p>
  <p>“To plead temporary insanity.”</p>
</blockquote><p>Duncan said, “What do you want me to say? It was good. Better than good. At least, I thought it was.”</p><p>“So what happened?”</p><p>“I wish I knew. I woke up this morning and he had one foot out the door. It was like he didn’t even know me. It was humiliating, is what it was.”</p><p>“I can’t believe it.” She shot a glare in Joe’s direction.</p><p>“Why am I such an idiot?”</p><p>“Baby, he’s old. And not really housebroken. He doesn’t know any better.”</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Wait, who’s that talking? Is that Amanda?”</p>
  <p>“Nah, she’s still asleep. It’s the TV.”</p>
</blockquote><p>“Wait, who is that? Is that Joe?”</p><p>Amanda covered the mouthpiece of her phone and gestured at Joe to be quiet. “It’s nobody. Just room service.” She jumped up and moved away. “Listen, are you sure it wasn’t just a misunderstanding?”</p><p>“Which part? The part where he couldn’t look me in the eye afterward? Or the part where he couldn’t get his clothes on fast enough?”</p><p>Amanda made a noise of disgust. “Men are jerks.”</p><p>“I’ll try not to take that personally.”</p><p>“You know what I mean. Present company excepted. Ugh. I don’t get it. He’s crazy about you! Anybody can see that.”</p><p>Duncan said glumly, “Well, maybe he thought better of it. I am out of practice.”</p><p>Amanda scoffed. “As if.” She sighed. This was fixable. But as much as she wanted to throttle Methos for being a five thousand year old dumbass and yell some sense into him, this was one situation where they’d both need a little time. “You want me to come over?”</p><p>“Would you?”</p><p>“I’ll be there in an hour.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“I feel so stupid.”</p><p>“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Amanda told him. They sat by the fire in Duncan’s spacious living room, a few snowflakes falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. "Trust me. You'll get past this."</p><p>“He warned me, years ago. He told me half a dozen times, in half a dozen different ways, that he never gets involved with Immortals. He’s always had these…these rules, about getting attached. And every time we got too close, he disappeared.”</p><p>“Uh huh. And why do you think that is?”</p><p>“Same reason as the rest of us, I suppose.”</p><p>Amanda curled up against him, tucking her feet under her. “You and me, we weren’t always so good at it, you know. We screwed things up plenty of times before we figured out how to make it work.”</p><p>“Yeah, I remember.”</p><p>“But you know why I kept coming back?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you were always happy to see me. Well,” she amended, “almost always. No matter what I’d done, no matter who we were with, or what we were doing in our lives, it always felt like coming home.”</p><p>He kissed her on the head. “Yeah.”</p><p>“You really care about him.”</p><p>Duncan choked up a little despite himself. He did his best to cover. “Yeah. I do.”</p><p>“So, do what you did with me.”</p><p>“And what’s that?”</p><p>Amanda squeezed his hand. “Be patient. Some of us need a little extra time to figure things out.”</p><p>“You’re a good friend, you know that?”</p><p>“I am, aren’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>Methos took Joe to lunch at his favorite deli, as promised. Afterwards, they found a bar with a quiet corner, decent bourbon, and a dozen microbrews on tap.</p><p>“Are you gonna mope all day?” Joe asked at last.</p><p>“Outlook hazy. Signs point to yes.”</p><p>“Let me ask you something.”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“When was the last time you slept with anyone you actually cared about?”</p><p>“Is this a trick question?”</p><p>“Feel free to answer in dog years.”</p><p>Methos scowled at him. “What kind of a friend are you, anyway?”</p><p>“Hey, I am your friend. I’m here, aren’t I?” Methos nodded grudgingly. “But I’m also Mac’s friend. And I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you’re both old enough to know better.”</p><p>“Never let it be said that age equals wisdom.”</p><p>“Yeah, no kidding.”</p><p>Methos stared morosely into his third beer. “I don't know, maybe you just get to a certain point in the relationship where it’s too late to have sex.”</p><p>Joe said nothing for a minute. When Methos looked up, he realized it was because Joe was staring at him like he was waiting for the punch line.</p><p>“I'm guessing that sounded less stupid in your head.”</p><p>“Well, like I said.”</p><p>Joe was right about one thing, though. He was old enough to know better. Why had he told Duncan he was going to call?</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“Listen, Mac, I’m gonna have to take a rain check on dinner tonight.”</p><p>“Everything okay?”</p><p>“Everything’s fine. Just got a call from my security company in Connecticut. Apparently the alarm went off at my storage unit. I’ve got to drive up tonight to beat the weather—if I don’t, it’ll be hell trying to get up there tomorrow.”</p><p>“I hope they didn’t take anything important.”</p><p>“Yeah, me, too. Sounded like it might have been kids, but better to be sure.”</p><p>“Okay. Travel safe.” Duncan hesitated. “Methos?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p><em>It was a mistake.</em> All day, he’d been imagining saying the words. Four little words, and they could pretend it never happened. Go back to the way things had been before. Methos wouldn’t have to lie to him. Maybe he’d be able to look at himself in the mirror.</p><p>“Forget it,” he said. “It’ll keep till you get back.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And the simple secret of the plot</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Is just to tell them that I love you a lot</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Then the world discovers, as my book ends</em>
  <br/>
  <em>How to make two lovers of friends</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Ye are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.<br/>I give ye my body, that we two might be one.<br/>I give ye my spirit, 'til our life shall be done.”</p><p>On a glass-enclosed rooftop deck lit by fairy lights and Japanese lanterns, Duncan stood at his kinsman’s right hand. The gathering of family and friends—mortals and Immortals—bore witness as Connor and the woman he loved pledged themselves in a commitment as old as time.</p><p>Duncan was happy for him. Laura was a lovely woman, and Connor was obviously smitten with her. They’d been together for almost eight years before deciding to get married, and Duncan had no doubt they were doing the right thing. He still couldn’t help a wave of sadness, thinking of the day when Connor would have to say good-bye.</p><p>“You cannot possess me for I belong to myself<br/>But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give<br/>You cannot command me, for I am a free person<br/>But I shall serve you in those ways you require<br/>and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”</p><p>Duncan’s eyes strayed to Methos, sitting in the second row between Joe and Amanda. His face was serene, and he’d never looked better. Duncan could imagine all too easily a time when he’d have been worshipped as a god.</p><p>Methos’s gaze flicked to his, and Duncan looked away, dragging his attention back to the moment.</p><p>“...and do you, Laura, take this man to be your husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forward until death do you part?</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Then by the power vested in me…”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Amanda said.</p><p>“It was,” Methos agreed.</p><p>“I’m happy for them.”</p><p>“Me, too.”</p><p>The jazz ensemble began to play “Dancing in the Dark.” Amanda sipped her champagne and followed the direction of Methos’s gaze. Under the strings of sparkling lights, Duncan danced with the maid of honor. Priti, her name was. Late thirties, but with the ageless beauty of her heritage that made her look almost Immortal herself.</p><p>“She’s not a bad dancer,” Amanda said.</p><p>“Really?” said Methos. “I hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>Amanda elbowed him. “Cut it out. Jealousy’s not a good look on you.”</p><p>“Who’s jealous? I’m just admiring the view.”</p><p>“Right. Tell it to someone who doesn’t know any better.” After a moment, Amanda said thoughtfully. “Just think how cute it would be if he asked her out. They could double-date.”</p><p>“You think you’re funny.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m making a point.”</p><p>The song ended, and the band transitioned into “It Had to Be You.” Nick materialized at Amanda’s side. “They’re playing our song, sweetheart.” To Methos, he said apologetically, “Hope you don’t mind if I borrow my wife.”</p><p>Amanda beamed and let him guide her toward the dance floor. “Don’t mind if I do.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” asked Connor, joining Duncan at the bar.</p><p>Duncan popped a peanut in his mouth and chewed it, waiting for his ice water. “Nope.”</p><p>“But you’re obviously still mad at him.”</p><p>“Yup.” His water came and he took a deep swallow, then turned to lean on the bar, watching Amanda laugh at something Nick had said. “Don’t worry, I left my sword in my other coat.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a relief.”</p><p>“You, on the other hand, look disgustingly happy,” Duncan said to change the subject.</p><p>“Does it show?”</p><p>“Yeah, it does.” He found a smile. “I’m glad for you. She’s a special woman.”</p><p>“She’d have to be, to put up with me.”</p><p>“Exactly my point,” Duncan agreed.</p><p>Ceirdwyn joined them, looking especially stunning in a strapless black dress, her blonde hair cut short in a spiky, avant-garde style. “Buy a girl a drink?”</p><p>“But of course, my lady,” Duncan said. “The usual?”</p><p>“Nah, I think I’ll mix it up. How about a margarita on the rocks?” she said to the bartender. She turned to lean next to Duncan, surveying the room. “Great party,” she said to Connor.</p><p>“I’m glad you could make it,” Connor said.</p><p>“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. The elusive Connor MacLeod, a married man, after all these centuries. I had to see it with my own eyes.”</p><p>“And what about you?” asked Connor. “Anyone special in your life?”</p><p>She gave a shrug. “Not this week.” She accepted her drink from the bartender, and took a sip, giving Duncan a teasing look over the rim. “I’m hoping some strapping lad might ask me to dance, though.”</p><p>It took an effort to muster the same playful tone, but Duncan set his glass down and took her hand, kissing it gallantly. “Aye, fair maid, ye have but to ask.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand you two,” Joe said.</p><p>Methos was on his fourth glass of champagne. Duncan was dancing with Gina de Valicourt. Robert and Ceirdwyn danced nearby, the four of them laughing and exchanging partners every couple of minutes.</p><p>“What’s to understand?”</p><p>Joe chuckled. “Where do I start?”</p><p>A server came by with a tray; Methos exchanged his empty glass for a full one. “What do you want me to say? It’s complicated. I’m not a fan of complicated.”</p><p>“So, that’s it.”</p><p>“Basically, I’m a happy person.”</p><p>“Uh huh. I can’t tell you how convincing that is.”</p><p>Methos shook his head. “You of all people should understand.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”</p><p>Tired of dragging it out, Methos cut to the chase. “Because you know what I was. You know about Kronos. About the Horsemen. Maybe you didn’t before, but you can’t tell me you didn’t do your research after the fact.”</p><p>Joe gave him a penetrating look. “Well, damn, son. That’s a trunk full of issues right there. You want to narrow it down a bit?”</p><p>Methos realized his voice had risen. In a quieter tone, he said, “The point is, even after millennia, after everything, I still wasn’t free of him. MacLeod might have died because of it, and every day, I have to live with that. And you saw how I was with Alexa. I get—” Methos made a frustrated gesture. “Hell, you're the one who tried to talk her out of going out with me.”</p><p>“You may recall, that wasn't long after I found out you'd been pretending to be a mortal as long as I'd known you. I didn’t know if I could trust you.”</p><p>“And you think you can now? I don’t trust myself, Joe. Not when it comes to getting involved with one of us.” He swallowed, his eyes drawn back across the room. “Not when it comes to him.”</p><p>“You're not the same person you were then. And Mac is sure as hell not Kronos. You’re good for him—and he’s good for you.” At Methos’s incredulous look, he raised a hand. “Hey, I just tell it like I see it. What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>“You really want me to answer that?”</p><p>“So you think…what? That if you keep running away, that’ll somehow make you safe? Free you from the hard decisions? That’s not how life works. Not for any of us, mortal or otherwise. And I know you’re smart enough to know that.” He studied Methos for a minute. “You want to know what I think?”</p><p>“Yeah, what’s that?” Methos drained his glass.</p><p>“You’re a fool when it comes to love, just like the rest of us. You’ll come up with any excuse you can, if it means you don’t have to admit that when it comes down to it, the heart wants what it wants, and there's nothing we can do about it. It doesn’t matter how old you are. Well, congratulations, pal. Welcome to the human race.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>Duncan danced with Ceirdwyn again, then Connor’s adopted daughter Rachel. When he danced with Amanda, the other guests made room to watch them. Methos stepped onto the deck to get some air.</p><p>He’d been outside a couple of minutes when the door opened and he turned to find Duncan coming toward him, flushed from the exercise and the heat of the reception. He’d taken off his tie, and his shirt collar was open, baring his neck. Methos—remembering with vivid clarity what he’d looked like in Methos’s bed, debauched and alight with pleasure—averted his gaze.</p><p>They stood next to one another at the railing, a careful two feet between them. Methos wanted to say something clever, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “Hi.”</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>Methos waited, but Duncan didn’t say anything more. At last, Methos asked, “How’ve you been?”</p><p>“Fine. You?”</p><p>“Can’t complain.”</p><p>They looked out over the city, the warmth and noise of the party at their backs. “Look, you can see the ball from here,” Methos said, gesturing with his chin toward Times Square.</p><p>Duncan gave a short, sharp laugh. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”</p><p><em>Finally,</em> Methos thought. A big part of him was glad just to be near Duncan after a week of not seeing him—a week of leaving messages that Duncan hadn’t returned. “Look, I get it. You’re annoyed with me.”</p><p>Duncan’s lip curled. “You think?”</p><p>Methos tried to make light of the situation, hoping Duncan would see reason. “What do you want me to say? It’s not like we exchanged promise rings.”</p><p>But Duncan wasn’t laughing. “That’s not the point.” He turned and faced Methos at last. “You lied to me.”</p><p>“What, you mean about the break-in? That actually happened.” Hearing himself, Methos winced. “Last year.”</p><p>Duncan shook his head in disgust. “I don’t believe you.” He gave Methos a look Methos had seen once before, in a church yard in Bordeaux. Now, as he had then, he turned to leave.</p><p>“Mac!” Methos hurried to stop him, laying a hand on his arm. Duncan flinched slightly, but he stopped. As reasonably as he knew how, Methos said, “Listen, nothing has to change. It was a mistake. We can just act like it never happened, and go back to the way things were.”</p><p>But Duncan turned to look at him, and at his expression, Methos felt his heart give an unsteady lurch.</p><p>“No, Methos. I thought maybe we could, but we can’t. I can’t.”</p><p>He said it with such finality, a thread of desperation coiled through Methos. The words leapt out of him. “It wasn’t supposed to happen, okay? It was never supposed to happen.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? And why’s that.” Duncan didn’t try to hide the hurt any more, his emotions plain on his face.</p><p>This was not how Methos had wanted this to go. His mouth opened, then closed again. “You know why.”</p><p>“Right, because it’s against the rules. It’s against <em>your</em> rules.”</p><p>Methos took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Mac, you’re my best friend. I care about you more than anyone on this planet. I just—I don’t know how to do this.”</p><p>“This? What's 'this,' exactly?”</p><p>“This!” He made a motion between them. “Whatever this is. We don’t even make sense!”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” When Methos couldn’t find an answer, Duncan shook his head and looked up at the sky as if searching for strength. “I should have known better. You warned me years ago. I should’ve listened.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, maybe you should have,” Methos agreed.</p><p>Duncan’s expression hardened then. “You know what I think? I think I’m done with this conversation. Enjoy the party.”</p><p>And with that, he went back inside, leaving Methos to watch him walk away.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>“That looked like it went well,” Joe said. He handed MacLeod a drink—Highland whisky, one of Mac’s preferred labels. Mac accepted it gratefully, and Joe sat down beside him. “You okay?”</p><p>“I’ll live,” Mac said.</p><p>“You sure? Because you look like someone murdered your dog.”</p><p>“Joe, I don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>“All right, all right. We don’t have to.”</p><p>Duncan sipped his whisky. Joe watched the band. A minute passed; then two.</p><p>Joe said, “It is so nice when you can just sit with someone and not have to say a word.”</p><p>“I couldn’t agree more.”</p><p>Another minute passed. The band took a break, and a recording of “Take Five” started to play. Joe glanced at his watch; it was almost eleven thirty. Beside him, MacLeod nursed his drink.</p><p>“So that’s it, huh,” Joe said at last.</p><p>Mac nodded. “Looks like it.” Across the room, Methos returned from the deck, nose and ears pink from the cold. Joe watched him cross toward the men’s room while Mac pointedly looked the other direction.</p><p>Joe shook his head. “I dunno.”</p><p>“What don’t you know?”</p><p>“I’ve never known you to walk away from a fight, that’s all.”</p><p>“I don’t want to fight, Joe.”</p><p>“Well, what do you want?”</p><p>“Does it matter?” Dispirited, Mac leaned his elbows on his knees and studied the glass between his hands. “It shouldn’t be this hard.”</p><p>Joe clapped his friend gently on the shoulder and squeezed. “Yeah, well, sometimes it is. Don’t mean it’s not worth it.”</p><p>“If you say so.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>The musicians had returned and were playing a tune that got almost everyone back on the dance floor, which made it relatively easy for Methos to make his exit unnoticed. He’d already paid his respects to the elder MacLeod and his bride, met the bride’s mother, said hello to Ceirdwyn and made polite small talk with the de Valicourts, so he figured his obligations were met. All that remained was to find his coat, and he could slip out quietly and ring in 2010 on his own.</p><p>Amanda, though, had other ideas. She met him halfway to the coat check, her knowing look putting paid to his best-laid plans.</p><p>“You’ll never get a taxi,” she warned.</p><p>“That’s okay. I can walk.”</p><p>“It’s cold out.”</p><p>“It’s not that cold.”</p><p>“That bad, huh?” She wasn’t without sympathy. She looked across the room to where Duncan and Joe sat, and he couldn’t help following her gaze.</p><p>“Worse,” Methos admitted.</p><p>“So, fix it.”</p><p>“Like it’s that easy.”</p><p>“It’s not that hard,” she countered. “Trust me.”</p><p>He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “Aren’t you the one who told me you’d never get married again after what’s-his-name?”</p><p>“You remember that, huh?” She shrugged. “So, I was wrong. It happens.” Nick, talking to Connor’s friend Kastagir twenty feet away, looked up as her eyes fell on him; he smiled, and she smiled back. Methos watched the way her face changed, recognizing a calm in her that was new.</p><p>“How did you know?” he asked at last. “What made you so sure?”</p><p>“You really want to know?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>She looked at him then with all the compassion she was capable of, which was saying something. “When he was dying, and I knew he was going to die, I couldn’t stand it, so I shot him. And he left me. I couldn’t blame him, you know? I didn’t tell him he was Immortal—I didn’t give him the choice. It took us five years to get over that, and the whole time, I was terrified he was going to get whacked, or worse, never want to see me again.”</p><p>Methos gave a pained chuckle.</p><p>“But I kept trying. And when he finally came back, when he finally forgave me—we got married the next day. You want to know why?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”</p><p>Methos opened his mouth to reply, though he couldn’t have said what words were going to come out. It was at that moment that the previous song ended, and the band began to play, “As Time Goes By.”</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>It took Duncan a minute to recognize the melody. “Of course,” he muttered, and finished his drink.</p><p>“What’s that?” Joe asked.</p><p>“Nothing, never mind. Listen, I’m gonna get another drink. You want one?”</p><p>But Joe didn’t answer. He was looking up at something past Duncan’s shoulder.  </p><p>Methos was standing a couple of feet away. With all the Immortals present, Duncan hadn’t sensed him. He wore a very peculiar expression—one Duncan couldn’t have deciphered to save his life. Methos held his hand out, expectant.</p><p>It took Duncan a second to make sense of it. When he did, a harsh laugh escaped him. “Yeah, right.”</p><p>Methos didn't smile, though, and the look in his eyes wasn't mocking, or cynical. Wordlessly, he offered his hand again. And without knowing that he meant to, Duncan reached out to take it.</p><p>Unsure of what he was doing, he let Methos pull him onto the dance floor. An unsteady weightlessness shivered through him. As if they’d done it a hundred times before, his body seemed to follow Methos’s lead with a mind of its own. They started to move, swaying together.</p><p>
  <em>And when two lovers woo</em>
  <br/>
  <em>They still say I love you</em>
  <br/>
  <em>On that you can rely</em>
  <br/>
  <em>No matter what the future brings</em>
  <br/>
  <em>As time goes by</em>
</p><p>Duncan closed his eyes. The feel of Methos against him was like nothing he’d ever known. He’d loved men before. Not many, but a few. But this, he’d never done. An aching sensation curled within him, halfway between pain and pleasure.</p><p>His cheek came to rest against Methos’s and he breathed in, heady with the scent of him.</p><p>“You know what the worst part is?” Methos said, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation.</p><p>“No,” Duncan said. “What’s that?”</p><p>Methos said, “I hate the idea of not seeing you for even a day, never mind a decade.” He sounded like he was mad about it. “Do you know what that’s like, for someone like me?”</p><p>Duncan swallowed. His heart felt too big for his chest—a sensation he recognized too well. He said, “There is no one like you.”</p><p>Methos said nothing for what felt like a long span of heartbeats. But his hand pressed warm against the small of Duncan’s back, and when he spoke at last, his voice was rough and full of emotion.</p><p>“I’m sorry. You deserved better.”</p><p>Duncan nodded, and let out a breath he’d been holding since Methos had walked out. He curled his fingers into the pocket of Methos’s vest. “You’re forgiven.” Then he cupped Methos's face, thumb resting against his jaw, until Methos met his gaze. "As long as we understand each other."</p><p>Methos nodded back, his eyes bright. Then he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Duncan’s. He let out a shaky breath. “I haven't been this scared of anything in—I can't even remember.”</p><p>“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not alone.” And for some reason, the almost imperceptible tremor that ran through Methos made him feel certain—as sure as he’d ever been about anything in his life. He grasped the back of Methos's neck and held him close. “I love you. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you love me. Whatever that means, we'll get through it.”</p><p>A small, damp chuckle escaped Methos. “Well, it’s official. You are an idiot.”</p><p>“But I’m your idiot.”</p><p>“And I'm yours, if you'll have me.”</p><p>"Aye, I will."</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For auld lang syne, my dear</em>
  <br/>
  <em>For auld lang syne</em>
  <br/>
  <em>We'll take a cup o' kindness yet</em>
  <br/>
  <em>For days of auld lang syne</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“…five! Four! Three! Two! One!”</p><p>Amanda kissed her husband, then cheered with the rest, “Happy New Year!” She kissed Joe for good measure, and he chuckled, pleased, while Nick rolled his eyes.</p><p>“All right, you little vixen.”</p><p>“You going to arrest me, officer?”</p><p>“I just might.”</p><p>After a moment, Joe said beside her, “Well, that was quick. Only took fifteen years.”</p><p>Amanda turned to see what what he was looking at. “I’ll be damned.” She laughed and linked her arm with Joe’s, raising her glass. “To figuring things out before it’s too late.”</p><p>Nick said, “I’ll drink to that.”</p><p>They toasted one another as Duncan and Methos kissed, and went on kissing long after the striking of the clock, oblivious to everyone and everything around them.</p><p> </p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Duncan and Methos</em>
</p><p>The first time we met, he offered me his head.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Don’t be so dramatic. I knew you wouldn’t take it.</p>
</blockquote><p>Mm, says you. The second time we met, he called the cops on me.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Worked, didn’t it? I had to keep that pretty head of yours attached to your neck.</p>
</blockquote><p>No matter how many times you saved me, you kept pretending it was just coincidence. God forbid you let on that you actually cared.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Not my fault that you believed me.</p>
</blockquote><p>And then you disappeared.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Did you miss me?</p>
</blockquote><p>Every time.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>The last time we met, we became friends.</p>
</blockquote><p>And the rest is history.</p><p>~ * ~</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>...and they lived, of course, happily ever after.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope that you enjoyed this, dear recipient! I very much enjoyed writing it for you.</p><p>I've treated the various Highlander movies as apocrypha—except that it pleased me to let Rachel and Kastagir live in this particular future. Thanks, kind reader, for indulging me. And thank you to Destina for indefatigable encouragement and support.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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